


Lordship

by wildpath3102



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildpath3102/pseuds/wildpath3102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With only days until his wedding to Arya of House Stark, Gendry finds himself faced with his most difficult task: delivering justice in court. Day 6 of AxG Week, "Command". Enjoy!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lordship

Day 6 - Command

Gendry was used to taking commands. Gendry was not used to giving them. 

Once his true heritage had come out, he had been raised to Lord Gendry Baratheon in an attempt to revitalize the house and consequently had wasted hours sitting in on councils rather than working in his forge. Luckily, as a result of his new lordship, he was finally able to wed Arya Stark. 

Kisses had been stolen in darkened corners when Gendry was just Gendry, but with legitimization came titles, and with titles came political standing. Prior to that, he was unable to marry the girl he had loved for so long, and now, they were only days until the wedding. His heart fluttered with the very thought. 

Gendry was best at listening to the problems of the smallfolk; he had been one, after all, and understood their predicament all too well. His lessons in warfare with Jaime Lannister were also successful. It was apparent that he had inherited some of his father’s abilities. 

Being a lord and learning his lordly duties in the capital was not as bad as Gendry had predicted, until the day he was truly tested. 

Arya was away, riding up to meet Hot Pie and her family on the Kingsroad, which left Gendry alone in court. After months of preparation, he had met many councilors and important figures vital to his training, but had no true friends to confide in. It was the perfect time for the Dragon Queen to give him a final test. 

The day dawned cloudy, the winter air blowing inland from the ocean below the keep. He had expected it to be a normal day, but the Lannister and Targaryen and other plans. Gendry was aware the court was to be open to calamities that afternoon, but he had not prepared himself to be the sole iron fist that ruled for the day. 

He was certainly not prepared to sentence a man to death. 

The amount of witnesses that had stepped forward with each case was startling. Some of them Gendry even recognized. It made for quite a tense situation: having to face someone who was once your equal with the House Baratheon sigil pinned to your chest was not comfortable. Resentment burned in many of their eyes and voices, making him twitch his seat. 

Slowly, and surprisingly, Gendry made it through problem by problem, finding what he deemed practical solutions and answers for the smallfolk. After three and a half hours, it had grown quite tedious. It was the final case in which he made a mistake. 

The accused was brought to his knees first, the witnesses trailing behind. His hair was erratic, as were his eyes. The man never wavered, always staring at Gendry. "I see right through you," he seemed to be saying. But despite their wildness, there was a desperate hope in them, something Gendry understood all too well. 

Throughout the time spent in the dark with Arya, he had never given up the dream that someday they could be together - truly together - as impossible as it had appeared to be at the time. 

“My lord, the villagers of Wesel, located by the Roseroad,” someone announced sharply. Gendry barely listened, for he was too busy watching the accused. “The folk of Wesel accuse this man, Karl Isi, of stealing livestock through the harshest winter known to man.”  
A pause.  
“Rise,” he commanded. 

“My father never trusted what a man said from his knees,” Arya had advised him once. To this day, he used whatever knowledge she imparted on him. 

“What livestock was stolen?” Gendry asked of them. One of the escort knights nodded to a middle-aged man with a graying beard and harsh eyes. “Three sheep and my own cow, m’lord,” he croaked out with a glare towards Gendry. Even the commoners are hostile, and not just because of their stolen livestock, he noted. “And what proof have you?”  
“Four witnesses to him stealing them on three separate occasions, m’lord.”  
I hate this ‘m’lord’ business.  
“Karl Isi, rise and come closer, do you proclaim innocence or guilt?” 

The man, bound by chains, struggled to move and approach the councilor’s seat in which Gendry was nestled. He narrowed his eyes at the newly legitimized lord and spat, “guilt”. The simple word was enunciated clearly so that all present in the room heard. His yellow teeth flashed at Gendry as the murmur rang through the bloodred halls of court. Gendry glanced up to see Daenerys Targaryen watching him steadily from the balcony above. Can’t make a wrong move now, he thought anxiously. 

Turning to the smallfolk, Gendry raised his chin and met the eyes of the escort knight, prompting him to speak. “The villagers of Wesel ask of the crown that this man takes the black and be sentenced to life on the Wall.” His words were stone cold, a monotone so void of emotion that Gendry would’ve sworn he had risen from the dead. He was about to respond when a villager’s voice rose above the gentle murmurings in the hall. 

“Only the black? Aren’t you forgetting some other vile offenses?” The man taunted, whipping around to face the people. A second knight approached him and grabbed a hold of his shoulders. “Watch your tongue, filth!” The knight snarled.   
“Rape! Murder! Or have you already forgotten about your daughter, Hilda?” The man screeched. The only woman present in the group broke into a choked sob.

“Silence!” Gendry bellowed, standing from his chair. The room obeyed, all noise eradicated in an instant. Daenerys was shifting in her seat, frowning. 

The accused licked his lips and stared at Gendry. “All crimes are excused by being sent to the wall,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. This was dangerous territory; he could not afford another outburst from one of the smallfolk. 

“Or death.”

It was the woman, Hilda, who spoke this time. Her voice was barely drawn above a whisper, so charged with emotion it was difficult to hear. 

His eyes fluttered shut. “I’m sorry about your daughter, Hilda,” Gendry said quietly. Not Gendry Baratheon, Gendry. 

“Justice is easy to proclaim. It is not always easy to find a balance between it and vengeance,” Daenerys had told him once. “As lord, you will have to rule in my name and do as you see fit. Honor the Seven Kingdoms, and they will honor you.”

Gendry had killed before. He had swung his mighty war hammer, a broadsword, shot a bow, and used even a stick or two in a desperate moment. Sentencing someone to death or a life of misery was different. In the heat of battle, one's past had no importance. Kill or be killed. Fight or die. In court, Gendry had the power to decide what this man’s fate was. 

Theft. Rape. Murder. Of a young girl. 

Arya flashed through his mind, small and dirty as Arry, and wild and ferocious as the wolf inside. What if it had been Arya? What if it had been your future child?

A blazing fire settled in his stomach, as bright as the one he had commanded for so many years as a blacksmith.

“Karl Isi. I sentence you to death by hanging for the charges of theft, rape, and murder.” As the words left his mouth, Gendry knew that he had made a fatal error by letting his own emotion seep into the moment. He spared a glance at the queen and met her unmoved eyes. She's not surprised, he thought dumbly. 

Voices were ringing through the columns. The accused was being dragged away roughly by the guards in the room, the villagers following the knights off to the side. And for a moment, as brief as it was the woman turned to him and caught his eye. She mouthed “thank you” and then hurried along. 

Gendry rose from his seat and was whisked himself away to the room outside. The heavy oaken doors were enough to block the noise in the throne room. A heavy exhale escaped his lips. 

The fire that burned so fiercely died, leaving room for a pit of doubt to settle. Had he made the right choice? He hadn't called for the other witnesses to step forward. The decision was made too quickly, too rashly, with his heart ruling his head.

Arya returned that evening, just after he had taken his meal in his solar. “I heard,” was all she said, drawing him into her lithe frame. Gendry breathed in deeply and ran his fingers through her hair, inhaling the smell of earthy trees and dirt. 

“I think I made a mistake,” he murmured. Arya stepped back and looked him dead in the eye. “And you’ll make a lot more. I'm not saying what you decided was wrong, but just know that this won't be the last time you’ll doubt yourself.”

Gendry looked at the ground, thinking about all the months he’d spent in the keep. Learning. Practicing. Pretending.   
“I'm not a lord. I never will be. I'm a bastard nobody,” he spat viciously, clenching and unclenching his fists. Arya furrowed her eyebrows and jabbed a finger in his chest. “Damn right. That's exactly why I'm marrying you, and don't you ever forget I'm no lady either. You can make it. We can make it. That was an evil man you condemned and don't you dare think otherwise. You did what you thought was right, and that’s all that’s asked of you.” Gendry looked up and saw her wolfish grin. “That, and spending time with a certain girl a few days before her wedding…” He rolled his eyes and reached out to grab her. She darted away nimbly, Gendry smiling broadly. “C’mere, you!” He laughed, finally giving in to her antics and chasing her around the room.


End file.
